


the anticipation of a war

by ayselz



Series: of the sea [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, just a war nothing much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-29 01:39:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18297698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayselz/pseuds/ayselz
Summary: Lucija allies herself with her worst enemy, and meets the future love of her life in battle. A spoiler.





	the anticipation of a war

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starkstruck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkstruck/gifts).



> Challenged by my daughter, might as well get rekt.

Little Lucija has yet to find her sea legs.

  
It’s not her first time on water, as she’d stowed rides on fishing boats before, but this was her first time to be riding with the fleet of the Kursi, on their way to battle. From what she’d heard as they were packing up supplies and arms, they would be coming to aid Sweden in its battle with Denmark. Lucija herself hated Sweden and his unfathomable blue eyes, but she and her little voice did nothing to sway her people’s choice. A pledge of allegiance to one side meant a semblance of peace in the immediate future, and her pride being put aside, Lucija admitted that Sweden was a more menacing enemy than Denmark.

  
Denmark and his obnoxious laughter she could easily thwart, but Sweden with his intimidating aura and seldom bouts of common sense? He was too unpredictable for Lucija to handle.

  
_For now_ , she promised herself, as she balanced herself on the prow, looking ahead toward the strip of land visible in the horizon. _Someday he will be on his knees, begging me for mercy as his life depended upon a thrust of my spear._

  
Sweden couldn’t die, of course, she knew this as well, but it didn’t hinder her from indulging in the daydream.

  
Suddenly the ship shook, and she let out an embarrassing squeak as she slipped, about to plunge into the deep, icy Baltic—but someone had caught her by the arm in a firm grip, and wasted no time in pulling her back onto the ship’s safe, steady wooden floor.

  
Lucija huffed indignantly. “I could have drowned!” she cried.

  
She was terrible at remembering names, but his youthful face would be burned into her memory. Freckles generously dotting his face particularly the bridge of his nose, flaxen hair ruffled by the wind, sun-kissed skin brought by days standing under the glare of the sun. His laughter was light and it warmed Lucija instantly.

  
(His death would be another burden she would bear in her long, long life.)

  
“I apologize, Kurzeme.” He gave her a patronizing pat on her head. She chose not to bite his fingers off. “It wasn’t my fault, however. You were practically dangling off the prow.” He even had the audacity to wink at her playfully.

  
Lucija felt her cheeks warming up. “I was… merely thinking of something! That was why I did not notice the ship’s movement…”

  
There went his laughter again. It was contagious, and she eventually found herself letting go of her embarrassment and giggling along.

  
“We’ll dock tonight if the winds favor us, or tomorrow at daybreak,” he said, once his laughter had ceased. He looked down at Lucija, eyes twinkling with the anticipation of a war. “Climb onto my shoulders, Kurzeme, so you’ll see the land better.”

  
Lucija trusted her people. Their very existence fueled the blood which ran through her veins. Still, she pretended to back away from him. “Why would I? What if you drop me?”

  
He raised both eyebrows in amusement. “And let you float through the sea until Oeselia finds you again? Oh, no! I do pity the young man’s poor heart, you know! I’m not heartless!”

* * *

They docked at nightfall. An argument broke out between different tribe leaders, as there were groups which wanted not to follow the plan and instead lay siege to the now unprotected Swedish coastal villages. This would be a golden opportunity, they stressed, as the brunt of the Swedish force would be concentrated in the battle against Denmark. However the majority retaliated, said that they had promised aid, and that promise they would—

  
“Kurzeme?” She was easily distracted from the more pressing matters by the familiar voice.

  
“Oeselia?” The battle was days’ ride away from the coastal encampment. What was he doing here?

  
He brightened. Oeselia had sharp facial features which looked menacing on a young lad, but somehow mere recognition from Lucija softened him. “I told you, you can call me Mendel. But enough of that! I didn’t expect that the rumor would be true, your tribes really had come to Sweden’s aid.”

  
That brought a lopsided smirk onto her face. “Do not speak too soon, Oeselia. This is probably a single-time thing.” She gestured toward the still arguing leaders of her tribes, some of them with faces already reddening from fury. “Sooner or later we will dishonor the pact with Zviedrija.”

  
He watched her with barely-concealed amusement, like an excited little pup. “And I will be with you, Kurzeme.” Wherever Kurzeme went, Oeselia followed.

  
Her grin was a little feral, and he reached out to ruffle her already windswept hair.

* * *

The battle was long and brutal, as expected, given the strength of the two clashing armies. Lucija had lost sight of Oeselia and his snowy white hair a few hours ago, when she’d deflected a spear thrown at him. That had been a reckless move which cost her greatly—now she was surrounded by Danes, and they were all wanting to draw her blood.

  
“Foolish, foolish Oeselia,” she muttered under her breath. Her own spear wouldn’t do much in close combat, this was proven and tested, so she let it drop. Resorting to a small axe was the least of Lucija’s choices, but apparently she had to do that now. If she was struck down today, she would never forgive Oeselia. A death resulting from being an ally to Sweden was not a death Lucija would fondly remember in the future.

  
One swung at her with his blade, quite clumsily and slowly as if he hadn’t gotten used to the weight of what he wielded. This Lucija used to her advantage, easily sidestepping the attack and taking a shot at deflecting the blade with her axe. It tumbled out of the warrior’s hands easily. She bit her lower lip to stifle the frustrated scream threatening to pour out of her little lungs.

  
If only no one in the opposing side was an inexperienced young lad who was forced into holding a blade, it would have been an easier victory to stomach. She could always say that she was defending herself in battle, and casualties were sure to follow such a skirmish. But in reality there were unfortunate souls who have never fought in anything before and now they had the poor luck of meeting Lucija herself in the battlefield—the incarnation of the fierce Kursi, tribes literally named after ‘curse’ because when they struck, they struck hard.

  
(The victories which followed these skirmishes were short-lived, and the nightmares which plagued Lucija in the wake of the battles were longer.)

  
She considered sparing the poor Danish lad’s life, but wondered if brushing too close to death twice in the span of an hour was too foolhardy even for her.

  
Lucija used a foot to propel the fallen blade up into the air, effortlessly catching it with her free hand. Silently muttering a prayer in her native tongue, she lunged. He did not stand a chance. She watched life seep out of the lad’s eyes for a second, then she set her attention on a more important matter: being surrounded still by other warriors.

  
But they look a little unsure now, she noted, as their blades trembled in their grasp. They probably thought a little girl with her little spear was nothing but a jest in the Swedish force’s part; they were probably only realizing who she was now.

  
Lucija made quick work of them one by one, dodging blows with her nimble feet in a dangerous dance of blades and blood and gore. Avert the eyes from their corpses as they fell, she told herself as she went, and after spurt after spurt of blood and after scream after scream, she felled the last of them.

  
Lucija raised her head towards the heavens. Crimson trickled down her cheek, down her axe.

  
She opened her mouth to say a prayer for the bodies which littered her feet, but was stopped in her tracks when something flew past her. Darting her gaze to follow it, she saw that it was a spear, and it hadn’t been aimed at her in the first place—

  
With a sickening crunch which made Lucija flinch a little, a Danish warrior who’d had a long blade poised toward her fell, the spear having made its home in his stomach.

  
“Are you alright?” Someone was making his way toward her, a boy around her age with blood streaking his hair of liquid sunlight. Lucija squinted at him.

  
“Yes. I am alright.” His eyes were akin to pools of water under frozen lakes. Deep and arresting. “Thank you. I thought I have wiped them all out, I did not notice that there was someone else.”

  
He looked puzzled. “You shouldn’t let your guard down in the middle of a battle.”

  
Speaking of a battle—Lucija only realized where they were right now. Damn him and his beautiful, distracting eyes. She looked frantically around them, noticing the lack of warriors trying to run their blades through them. There still was fighting going on, but there was a distinguishable distance.

  
“What happened?”

  
He shifted, then gestured vaguely. “Oeselia kind of went wack when he saw that you got surrounded. It was scary. Those who were in their right minds ran away from him and regrouped—”

  
“Kurzeme!” Oeselia crashed into her then, pushing past the boy with the beautiful blue eyes, crushing her in a tight embrace. He rank of blood and sweat, but despite this Lucija smiled. “I thought they—I thought you died back there!” She heard them, the unsaid words he was trying to tell her.

  
_I will never live with the fact that I caused your death._

  
She stared at the boy from over Oeselia’s shoulder, amused at the confusion on his face. She tuned out Oeselia’s worrying, and watched with fascination as the boy’s expression turned from confusion, to relief, to alarm. His blue eyes widened, and Lucija knew what it meant.

  
She pushed Oeselia away, feet finding purchase into the blood-soaked ground as she waited for an onslaught.

  
“Behind you!”

  
There were about ten men charging toward them, blades glinting with sunlight held up in the air. Someone put a short blade onto Lucija’s hand, its hilt slippery with blood. The boy stood beside her, and Oeselia charged to meet the upcoming enemies with a wild roar.

  
Lucija exchanged gazes with the boy. She smirked at him, gestured offhandedly, then followed Oeselia suit.

  
After all, wherever Oeselia battled was where Kurzeme battled, too.


End file.
